


closer everywhere

by verity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cozy Winter Moodboard Fanfiction, Developing Relationship, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Paladins, Post-Season/Series 07, Snow, Team as Family, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 01:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: Ten years after the end of the war, the Paladins of Voltron gather to celebrate.





	closer everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> For starbomb-blr! I hope you enjoy your gift!
> 
> With thanks to tiac for [her beautiful sense-poem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339909) that served as inspiration and to Ashe, MoreThanSlightly, pickleweasel, S, and spookyfoot for cheerleading.

Ten years. On Earth, they call that a tin anniversary.

It’s not often that the paladins of Voltron are all on the same planet these days. Keith dodges the ceremonial stuff if he can get out of it, Shiro is the Coalition’s show pony, Allura and Lance have three children under the age of 5, Hunk is a homebody, and Pidge is teaching at the Garrison. The Lions have left and there’s another generation coming up behind them—to explore, not to fight.

Keith still works with the Blades, of course. And Shiro has Atlas.

As advertised, the ground and treetops are white with snow, undisturbed except the plowed roads. Everyone else took a commercial flight to Linui and drove out from the capitol, but Keith’s ship and his time are his own. He plotted the course and cleared his entry with customs weeks ago, because that’s what he does now; there’s room to land a klick out from his destination. He touches down soft, checks systems, cuts the power. Then there’s nothing to do but swap for sturdier boots and grab his pack before he climbs out of the cockpit.

That klick feels longer on his feet than above, but it’s good to stretch his legs. Keith climbs through the knee-high snow to a path that’s been salted if not shoveled, and it’s easier going from there, treading carefully through the mire of slush over pocked gravel. The sun is dipping towards the horizon, the sky fading from a rich yellow to dim green. He still has plenty of time, but his breath catches in his throat. The closer he gets, the farther everyone feels; the more he wants it.

Keith’s allowed to want, now. That’s the difference. Ten years.

* * *

“Take off your shoes!” Hunk stage-whispers from the kitchen as soon as Keith closes the door behind him. “You’re going to track that salt in here and it smells like _durian_!”

“You don’t have to _yell_ ,” Keith hisses back. 

The big cabin is open-plan on the first floor, with the kitchen and half the living space open to the ceiling. Hunk’s where he always is, standing at the kitchen island in a worn “KISS THE COOK” apron and chopping up something that looks like squash. His ponytail has more grey than Keith remembers. “Sleeping baby,” he says in that same hushed tone, and—oh, there’s Lance and Melly by the fire, with Allura working on her tablet beside them. She lifts her head and waves at Keith, careful not jostle Lance.

Keith drops his bag by the coat rack and unlaces his boots with stiff fingers. His head spins for a moment when he jerks upright off too quickly. The heat of the house hits him like a hammer, the curling warmth inside him matched by the firelight on his cheeks. He hangs up his coat and heads over to the hearth. 

Up close, Lance looks as tired as Keith expected. He’s half-asleep himself, his shirt mottled with baby drool. He lifts his fingers and waggles them cautiously. “We didn’t set up her crib yet,” he says. “Frankly, I’d probably get it upside down.”

“How old is Melly now?” Keith says, sitting down on the couch opposite them.

Allura smiles. “Three phoebs.”

“She doesn’t look like an old man now,” Lance says. “And she poops like a champ, I’m so proud.”

“You haven’t seen the kids since Rafa was born, have you?” Allura says. “Val was just walking.”

Keith shakes his head. “Two years ago, right?”

“Almost three.” Allura’s face is fond, rounder than it used to be. “Rafa is going through what I understand you call the ‘terrible twos.’”

“What _I_ call it?” Keith says, 

Lance snorts. “We’re onto you. Stop pretending you don’t like them.”

Keith shrugs and doesn’t bother answering. He turns toward the fire and watches the flames for a moment—the wood here burns as green as the sunset. That same visit, he tag-teamed with Hunk entertaining Vallora for days without protest and didn’t care what any of them thought about it; his ease with children didn’t say anything about him that the rest of them didn’t already know.

“Shiro’s going to be in late, right?” Allura says. “Coran’s out picking up Pidge now, but he can go back for Shiro later, he won’t mind.”

Keith shakes his head. “I’ve got clearance to fly in.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” Lance says, teasing.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Allura says to him sharply. 

Then Melly fusses, dragging her little hands against Lance’s chest, and they all go quiet for a moment until she settles. The markings on her cheeks glow faintly, the way Allura’s do when she’s content. Keith can barely look at anyone for a moment; his chest grows tight, too tender.

Allura clears her throat. “I haven’t seen Shiro since the summit on Olkarion. He looks like he’s doing well.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “He—He’s great.”

Lance looks at Keith for a long moment, then sighs. “Do you want to see photos of all the kids? Rafa and Val are with my parents for the weekend, they won’t be here to pull your pigtails.”

“I only have one,” Keith points out.

Allura laughs, bright and loud. Reflexively, they all look at Melly, but she doesn’t stir.

After the obligatory photo reel on Allura’s tablet—birthday parties, Rafa’s fingerpainting, Val’s first day of preschool, a red-faced Melly swaddled up tight with mittened hands—Keith gets up to stretch his legs and find the bathroom. The closest is the half-bath behind the kitchen, plaster walls painted a soft brown. Keith is pretty sure that the embroidered sampler hanging directly opposite the toilet says the Linuen equivalent of _if you sprinkle while you tinkle, please be a sweetie and wipe the seatie_. Okay, then. 

The hand towel by the sink is trimmed in plaid flannel and embroidered with little trees. Keith looks up from drying his hands to see himself in the mirror. His hair is a wreck, dark shadows under his eyes; there’s not much he can do about either of those just now. Not that he cares. Except that it’s been almost month a since he’s seen— 

Keith has to close his eyes. He can’t think about him, how much he wants him. Shiro. His hands drop to his sides, curling into fists. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, he’s never been ashamed about it before. Don’t they all know? After all this time. But it’s new, fresh—getting what he wants and having him. Being with Shiro is nothing like Keith imagined at all.

“Try this,” Hunk says when Keith emerges, holding up a skewered hors d’oeuvre. “Kinda a prosciutto-melon vibe without the prosciutto or the melon.”

The whatever-it-is is crispy and light at once, a burst of sweet and savory in his mouth. “It’s good. Everything you make is good, you know that.”

Hunk beams. Then Keith’s swooped into a hug, his feet nearly lifted off the floor. “Buddy! I missed you.”

“You too,” Keith says to Hunk’s apron.

* * *

Lance throws another log on the fire and Keith’s asleep on the couch by the time it catches. He doesn’t mean to doze off, but it’s been a long string of missions. Not every planet in the former Empire is eager or even willing to accept aid, especially from a former paladin, and sometimes those planets are the ones most in need of it. Keith’s tired, and it’s safe to rest here. Under the watch of his friends, there’s nowhere safer he could be.

The creak of the front door is loud enough that Keith stirs when it swings in. At the sound of eager voices and stamping feet in the foyer, he opens his eyes. Allura’s nursing Melly, Lance is striding toward the door, and then there’s Pidge, always taller than Keith remembers, followed by Coran. 

Followed by Shiro.

For a moment, Keith is frozen in place; he can’t bear to be seen, to be seen being seen. Then Shiro looks at him and all of that drops away. Keith stands, jolted out of sleep, and Shiro comes right to him, like there’s no one else in the room at all.

“Surprise,” Shiro says, putting his hands on Keith’s hips, where his touch feels like a brand. “I’m a little early.”

Keith smiles, helpless. “I noticed.”

When Shiro leans in, he’s so close that his words are felt as much as heard, a hot breath against Keith’s cheek. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, stumbling over his words. “I—you know.”

Shiro kisses him, close-mouthed and lingering, careless of their audience. “I do.”

* * *

There’s still an hour left on the main course—”Hey, this turkey took a long time to defrost!”—so they all huddle around the kitchen island and eat the trays of canapes and prosciutto-melon-skewer things. All of them, not in Garrison full dress or civilian white tie or whatever formal drag a Coalition planet has pressed upon them, just casual clothes for everyone except for Keith. He’s still in his Blade undersuit, but he doesn’t feel out of place. No one says anything about Shiro at his side, even though, to Keith, it’s usually felt the other way around.

Pidge takes a turn holding Melly so Allura and Lance can eat, support her head with nervous caution. “She won’t break,” Allura says between bites of bruschetta made with true Earth tomatoes grown in Hunk’s hydroponic garden. “Human babies are surprisingly sturdy.”

“It’s not like I have much experience,” Pidge grumbles. “We’re not overrun with small children at the Garrison.”

“Just like pipetting, it’s all muscle memory,” Hunk says, opening the oven to pull out the turkey and set it on the stove, then basting it with exacting precision. The smell makes Keith’s stomach growl. “Come on, little guy, just a little longer, gonna get you nice and tasty and up to 75 degrees.”

Shiro’s hip presses against Keith’s and Keith nearly drops his bruschetta. “I hear there’s a wood stove in our cabin—you want to get it going before dinner?”

Keith swallows. “Sure.”

“Let me show you to the wood pile!” Coran lets out a nostalgic sigh. “So rustic. One time, Alfor and I...”

* * *

Coran unlocks the door of their cabin for them and hands Keith the keys while Shiro juggles the firewood. “Not like we need these out here, do we?”

“Probably not,” Keith agrees.

Shiro sets down his burden. “Some privacy is nice.”

Coran beams. “Of course.” He ushers Keith in and then closes the door behind them.

Inside, the air is so cold that Keith can see their breath. Shiro was right about the stove. Keith drops their bags by the door and Shiro bends up from unlacing his shoes to meet Keith as he rises. This kiss takes the breath from Keith’s mouth, hungry and demanding, as Shiro’s hands sink into Keith’s hair. “I missed you,” Shiro says, turning his head to bite the curve of Keith’s jaw. “I don’t ever want to—” A sharp inhale. “I hate being away from you.”

“We were apart for a long time.” Somehow, Keith always feels the need to remind him.

Shiro leans back enough to meet Keith’s eyes. “Did you like that?”

“Shiro.” Keith’s throat tightens. “ _No._ ”

“I hated it,” Shiro says, so easily. He gathers Keith in until their bodies are pressed together from knee to chest, a heady plane of contact that forms a sharp contrast to the chill clinging to Keith’s back. “I know we haven’t—it hasn’t been that long, I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Keith sighs against Shiro’s throat. “Shiro, it’s been forever.”

“Oh.” Shiro goes tense, then abruptly at ease in Keith’s arms.

They stand like that for a long minute before Keith steps back. “The stove—”

“Right,” Shiro says. “That’s right.”

Keith is the one who’s best at getting a fire going, while Shiro’s the best at keeping it alight. After half an hour of attention, the flame is going steady in the wood stove, flickering with that same green light as inside. Keith stays crouched down on the floor for a few minutes, just watching, before he lets Shiro pull him upright with his floating hand. 

“I want to see the loft,” Shiro says. “The bed’s up there.”

“Sure,” Keith says, already going for their bags. He’s good at the bed part of things.

The sheets on the bed are so cold they feel almost wet. Keith lets Shiro peel him out of his suit and roll him under the covers, stripping his own clothes off and following. “There’s an electric blanket if you want.”

Keith snorts. “You’re like a furnace.”

Shiro crawls on top of him, keeping some of his weight on his elbows so Keith feels his heat more than his weight, his soft dick resting against Keith’s thigh. Keith exhales and his rib cage pushes against the solid bulk of Shiro’s abs, a dizzying pressure. The past layers over this moment like a veil, and for a second Keith is smaller, hungrier, overwhelmed. Maybe he’ll never stop feeling this way. Shiro kisses the soft point below Keith’s ear and Keith shivers. “You here with me?” Shiro says.

Keith says, “Sort of.”

Shiro nuzzles Keith’s cheek, then scoops Keith up into a bear hug. The air around them is still cool, but Keith feels like he’s thawing all over. Like frostbite set in front of the fire, it warms too quickly, and his chest hurts as the memory that overtook him recedes. His cheeks flush, from the heat of Shiro’s body or embarrassment. Shiro doesn’t let go.

“It doesn’t feel real sometimes.” Keith opens his eyes to look up at Shiro. “How you feel about me.”

The real difficulty of distance is the way their history seeps in around the edges. Keith has always loved Shiro, and wanted him, but somehow the object of his desire stayed fixed in the past even as they’ve grown and grown together. All Keith ever wanted was to be the focus of Shiro’s attention, however briefly; he wasn’t prepared for—this. Love that sounds him like a bell, that shakes his foundation. 

In the present, Shiro kisses his forehead. “It will.”

“I know,” Keith says, and he does. “Shiro. I love you.”

Shiro kisses Keith’s cheek, then his nose, and finally his mouth—lazy and sweet. “Funny how I feel the same exact way.”

* * *

Hunk serves everything buffet-style: turkey and mashed something and tangy, spicy greens, paired with homemade biscuits and gravy. They all gather around the table to eat, Melly tucked close to Lance in sling. She’s awake now and highly entertained by her own hands, excited when she can tuck a few fingers into her mouth. 

“It’s like you guys have never seen a baby before,” Lance says. “You know, if you want to babysit, we’d take help like, any time. You could just come visit. We have guest rooms.”

Coran’s forkful of turkey pauses halfway to his mouth. “I’ve been told my own bachelor pad is quite happening.”

“It’s true,” Hunk says. “I’ve crashed there.”

“Always excellent to have another engineer on hand,” Coran says.

Allura dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “Truly, it’s been too long since we’ve seen you all. It doesn’t have to be a special occasion, or quite so long. Or—because we’re paladins.”

In the pause that follows, Keith takes a big bite of his greens. They’re sweet and tangy, with a unfamiliar spice at the end that sears his mouth. He meets Allura’s eyes over the table for a moment, then drops his gaze.

“Wild from me,” Pidge says, “but I actually enjoy your company when we’re not talking about _treaties_ or attending _diplomatic functions_.”

“The catering is definitely not on this level,” Keith agrees.

Hunk beams. “You say the sweetest things.”

Beneath the table, Shiro takes Keith’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “I’ve never wanted to impose,” he says, oddly tentative. “Just because we spent a lot of time together…”

“Why are you always like this?” Pidge rolls her eyes. Then she turns her gaze on Keith. “Both of you.”

Keith is too aware of Shiro’s hand in his, the way he’s stroking the soft web of skin between Keith’s forefinger and thumb. “I’m just busy,” Keith says. “It’s not like you need my help.”

Lance waves from the other end of the table. “Hello, free babysitting, Uncle Keith, it’s like you’re not even listening.”

 _Uncle Keith?_ Keith makes a face. “They can just call me Keith, it’s fine.”

“Too late,” Allura says.

Shiro is the first to laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “What?” he says when Keith yanks him close enough to elbow. “It’s cute.”

“They better not be calling me Aunt Pidge,” Pidge says.

“Don’t worry,” Coran says reassuringly. “I always say _Dr._ Pidge when I tell them stories about you and young Matt.”

Pidge throws up her hands.

“Look, Val thinks every adult we know is her aunt or her uncle, she’s got enough of them on my side,” Lance says. “Rafa is pretty indifferent unless you have something that will cause permanent stains in your possession or you’re a cow.”

“I’ve pretended to be a cow,” Hunk adds.

Allura clears her throat, her expression turning serious. “I don’t wish to celebrate the end to the war tonight. What else did we bring peace to the galaxy for but this? To live our lives freely.”

“Yes.” Coran’s voice is rough. “That’s what I’ll toast to.” He dabs at his eyes.

“Well, you heard the man,” Lance says after a moment. “Somebody who’s not holding a baby better break out the champagne.”

It’s not true champagne, of course, but something bubbly and sweet that with a little kick to it. Hunk pours each of them a flute and they clink them together in the Earth custom, leaning over the table to reach other. Shiro puts a steadying hand on Keith’s hip as he reaches out toward Hunk at the opposite corner of the table. “Form Voltron!” Shiro says, and amidst laughter, the paladins of Voltron and Coran raise their glasses.

* * *

After dinner, they pile onto the couches around the fire and Coran makes them hot cocoa, the powdered kind that was popular on earth a hundred years ago and has become all the rage in New Altea. Little dehydrated marshmallows float around the surface of Keith’s drink; they’ll stay crunchy if he sips them off the surface fast enough, and he nearly burns his tongue doing it even though he knows better.

Shiro wedges himself between Keith and the side of the sofa, a space far too narrow for him to do so gracefully. Frowning, Keith sits his mug on the table and moves to scoot over, only to have Shiro catch him by the hand. “You could sit on my lap,” Shiro says quietly. “If you want.”

“Here?” Keith says.

“No one will mind.”

Hunk and Pidge are facing off against Coran in Scrabble; Allura and Lance are on a video call with Val and Rafa, who are eating breakfast with their Abuela and Abuelo. They’re family, not an audience, but that makes each action Keith takes feel weighted. He shakes his head. “Let me finish my cocoa.”

Shiro stays close, leaning into Keith, solid and steady. The marshmallows are starting to melt, but Keith’s frustration slips away before it settles. He listens to Pidge and Coran squabble over the spelling of some obscure Altean gear oil, to Val’s happy chatter and Melly’s soft, rising cry before Lance gets up and goes to change her diaper. There’s nothing more that the universe requires of them tonight.

“Did you get to see Krolia while you were on Feyiv?” Shiro says after a while.

Keith smiles. “Yeah. She was—you know how she is when there’s something she needs to get done.”

“A lot like someone I know,” Shiro says.

Keith looks up at Shiro, face bright in the firelight, and wants to ruin his plush mouth. He settles for taking Shiro’s hand in his this time, brushing their calloused palms together and resting their hands on his knee. Even this small contact is electric. “I haven’t seen snow in a long time,” he says. “Let’s go for a walk.”

* * *

This place is far enough from the city that Keith can see the stars as clearly as he could in the desert where he grew up. Some of them are even the same stars. Shiro tucks Keith’s bare hand into the pocket of his puffy jacket and tilts back his head. “Good view.”

Keith steps closer to him. “Yeah.” He drags his little finger against Shiro’s. ”I like mine better, though.”

By themselves—or as much as they can be with their friends ten meters away—it’s easier to say these things. To look at Shiro and hold his gaze, to meet his eyes. To be here with him.

“You know that I’m not embarrassed, right?” Keith says, careful of his words.

He feels more than sees Shiro’s response, fingers tightening around his. “I do.”

“Everyone here has seen me—” His voice breaks, a little. “Seen what I would do for you. Without you ever— They know me. They know how I feel.”

“Is that so bad?” Shiro says gently.

Keith shakes his head. “It’s so _big_.”

What a heavy load to carry, to be someone’s whole world. How could Keith have put that on Shiro? Shiro already knew, must have known; yet during the years that followed the war, he never pulled back, never pulled away, even when their work drew them to opposite sides of the galaxy. Keith didn’t know what it would feel like to let go of carrying this secret. How light it could be.

Shiro turns, tugging close their clasped hands and Keith along with them. “I love you,” he says, shyly. “It used to scare me, how much. I was embarrassed—not of you. To want more from you after everything you’ve given me. As if I deserved that.”

 _You did_ hangs on the tip of Keith’s tongue, but he knows that’s not what Shiro needs to hear. “You didn’t have to earn it,” he says after a moment. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Shiro presses his forehead to Keith’s. His breath is hot against the bridge of Keith’s nose. “Figured that out.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Keith says, and then they’re laughing, tension broken, holding hands in the snow.

* * *

Back inside, Shiro throws a few more logs in the wood stove and adjusts their position neatly with the poker. The cabin has warmed while they ate dinner, enough that Keith feels comfortable without his coat. It’ll be even warmer in the loft, where the heat has risen to the rafters. “I’m going upstairs,” he says, and Shiro nods, his eyes on the fire.

This time, the sheets feel cool but not cold, and Keith crawls naked between them with little discomfort. Then he climbs back out of bed to get lube out of the bag, because he knows what he wants, and he wants it now—not in the long, echoing hallway of the past or the dreamlike hope of the future. Quickly, he gets on his knees and works his fingers into himself, opening himself up. Yes. 

“Keith,” Shiro says from the top of the ladder. “You started without me.”

Keith glances back at him. “Think you can catch up?”

Shiro scrambles up the latter and onto the bed, jeans and briefs kicked to the end of the bed, sweater and t-shirt crammed between the mattress and the sloping wall. “You have quite a lead, but I think I can manage,” he says, and pulls Keith on top of him.

The first times they did this was awkward, out of sync, clumsy, too eager to do more than fumble through, both of them guilty of racing to the finish line. Still, Shiro is capable of patience where Keith, well—he always wants to push everything he’s good to the limit. He gets his legs around Shiro’s hips, straddles him and grinds down against him, thighs slick where the lube has dripped down. Shiro grabs Keith’s hips, slowing him, and Keith says, “Sure about that?”

“I want to take my time with you,” Shiro says, eyes glinting.

Keith shakes his head. “You can do that in the morning.” He rubs his ass against Shiro’s half-hard dick for emphasis. “I want you.”

For a half-second, Shiro wavers, and then he brings his floating hand up to wrap around Keith’s dick. Fuck, he feels so good, his sleek hand scratching a silky itch that makes Keith’s balls tighten. “You’ve got me, baby.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, and he lifts his hips, reaching back to find Shiro, to guide him inside.

This is still so new—how they fit together, having Shiro inside him. He’s so big. Keith bites down a sound and Shiro’s fingers squeeze his cock. “Let me hear you,” he says. “Come on, Keith—”

Keith closes his eyes and lets it out, the low moan as he slides down onto Shiro, shivery with desire. Shiro draws his thumb along the folds of Keith’s foreskin and up to the head of his dick and then strokes his shaft with a pace that grows uneven as Keith rides him, fast and hard. He feels cleaved open, impossibly exposed, and he comes with a low groan, spilling across Shiro’s chest. 

Shiro pulls out slowly, then rolls them over so he’s between Keith’s legs again. “Can I—”

“Yeah,” Keith says, dazed, smiling. He cups Shiro’s cheek; Shiro turns his head to kiss Keith’s palm.

This time, everything feels slow, or maybe that’s the sea of endorphins that Keith is floating in. He raises his hips to give Shiro better access and Shiro makes a choked noise as he slides deeper inside. It’s too much and it’s too good. Keith clenches around him and Shiro comes, just like that, panting as Keith milks him through it.

* * *

They wake up in the middle of the night, sticky and thirsty. The air around them is chilly.

“Fire’s almost out.” Shiro peers over the edge of the loft, naked except for the duvet around his waist. “Guess I should take care of that.”

“Maybe,” Keith says, and lets Shiro catch him checking him out.

The second time is as slow as Shiro wanted, Keith already wet and open and lazy. He kisses Shiro’s mouth, his throat, his shoulder. “I want to have every kind of sex with you,” he says sleepily. “Can we do that?”

“We’re doing that,” Shiro says, punctuated by a grunt of effort.

They navigate the ladder with wobbly legs and take turns washing off in the cabin’s tiny shower, barely large enough for one. Shiro towels Keith’s hair mostly dry and Keith can’t help but kiss him after, shoving him back against the door. “No,” Shiro says, pushing Keith back gently. “I can’t go again yet, I’m not—”

Keith snorts. “Galra?”

“ _Twenty_ ,” Shiro says.

Keith rolls his eyes. His traitorous stomach rumbles.

* * *

Wet hair tucked into the hood of Shiro’s extra sweatshirt, Keith leads the way into the kitchen and the refrigerator that had better be full of tonight’s leftovers. Shiro’s getting them glasses of water when the overhead light flicks on. 

“Don’t apologize, I was still up,” Pidge says. “Any of those melon things left?”

Keith shakes his head. “There’s some extra meat, though. And…. string cheese?”

“I will accept string cheese,” Pidge says solemnly. 

Shiro makes two sandwiches with leftover turkey and they all sit down together at one end of the table. They had so many late nights like this on the Castle, all of their internal clocks disoriented, the darkness of space outside their windows unchanging with the passage of time. Keith’s sandwich has too much mayo and too few tomatoes, but he doesn’t complain.

Pidge peels off a sliver of cheese and drops it into her mouth. She chews thoughtfully for a few moments. “So… are we talking about this?” She gestures between them with her cheese stick. “Like, aside from the jokes Lance keeps making.”

“He’s just like that,” Shiro says. “Though I don’t think he was kidding about Val calling Kolivan ‘Uncle Kolivan.’”

Pidge nods. “So, not talking about it.” 

Keith swallows. “We can talk about it.” Shiro glances at him. “It’s not a secret.”

“Good, because it would be the world’s worst-kept secret,” Pidge says.

“You already know,” Keith says. “All of you. That’s why it’s hard.”

Shiro reaches over and puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder, grounding, like he’s done a thousand times. “We trust you.”

“Yeah, I know, you idiots,” Pidge says, but she looks pleased. Then she lowers her voice. “I have a new girlfriend, but don’t tell anybody. We’ve been dating for like two months.”

Keith says, “Us, too.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Pidge says. “Okay, I get it now.”

When Keith looks over at Shiro, his cheeks are pink—the tips of his ears are pink. “Thanks for telling us,” Shiro says, and oh, Keith is so in love with him. 

Pidge picks at her cheese. “You’re welcome. Want to dive down a hill instead of talking about our feelings now?”

* * *

Pidge rousts Hunk from bed and he joins them, yawning, bundled up in his orange coat and snow pants. “How does this work, anyway? Isn’t it dangerous?”

“We don’t have sleds.” She elbows him in the side. “Live a little.”

Keith is wearing Coran’s coat and Shiro has his puffy jacket on, as ready as they’ll ever be. “Feet first, right?” Keith says.

Pidge throws finger guns at him, as well as she can in her thick gloves. “You got it. Try to avoid those tree stumps down there.”

“This is definitely dangerous,” Hunk says, staring down the snow-covered slope into the dim hollow below. 

“I’m in,” Shiro says, and jumps over the edge.

Keith follows him with a whoop, his arms raised in the air. Sliding over the densely-packed snow feels like flying. He relaxes into it and barely misses a branch sticking out of the ground, half-obscured by ice. All too soon, he’s landing hard on at the foot of the hill. It knocks the wind out of him. He lies there for a few moments, getting his breath back, before he rolls onto his stomach and catches sight of Shiro. He’s sprawled on the ground a few yards away, his arms moving through tonight’s light coat of snow.

“Making snow angels?” Keith says.

“That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?” Shiro says. “Come on down here. It’s nice.”

Before Keith can get up, Pidge slams right into his side, and they tumble over each other until they smack into a snowbank. “Sorry,” Pidge says, not sounding sorry at all. “Wanna do it again?”

Keith looks up to see Hunk careening down the incline, screaming. “I’ll race you to the top.”

* * *

They stumble into the kitchen winded and bruised to find Allura and Melly, who is crying as Allura bounces her on her hip. “Somehow, I’m not surprised by this,” Allura says as Hunk pulls out the leftover prosciutto, a wedge of cheese, and some eggs. “What did you all do to yourselves?”

“We had fun,” Keith says, and he doesn’t even startle when Shiro comes up behind him and rests his hand on Keith’s hip. 

Pidge peels off her fleece jacket. “We’re allowed to have fun.”

“Have you gotten any sleep?” Shiro says to Allura, who does look tired.

Allura shrugs. “I napped.” She kisses Melly’s scrunched forehead. “This one isn’t sleeping through the night quite yet.”

“I’ll take her for a little bit,” Keith says, stepping forward. “Have something to eat.”

“Would you?” Allura says.

Melly’s fussy, but not any more so than the babies that passed through the homes where Keith spent most of his childhood. Keith holds her against his shoulder and rubs her back, swaying softly. His whole body aches gently, pleasurably, and he looks up to find Shiro watching him with an expression that Keith now knows is fond, is for him alone. 

Melly whimpers against Keith’s shoulder. She has that sweet baby smell, precious and new. “What do you want, huh?” Keith says to Melly. “I bet you’re too tired to sleep. You’ve had an exciting day.”

“Tell me about it,” Hunk grumbles.

The room is beginning to lighten as the deep green of twilight recedes. Keith follows Shiro over to the window seat at the end of the kitchen and stands next to him as he rocks Melly to sleep. If he squints, he can still make out the field of stars at the edge of the chartreuse sunrise. “How are you feeling?” he says quietly to Shiro.

“Like I threw myself repeatedly down a hill.” Shiro turns, then, and smiles up at him. “I’m good. You?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “I’m good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [@regretsonmain](http://twitter.com/regretsonmain) on twitter.


End file.
